


one look and my heartbeat stops

by outruntheavalanche



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Gen, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: If Lawson trulyisher Soulmate, her mom is never gonna let her live it down.





	one look and my heartbeat stops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClassyWillow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyWillow/gifts).



> I was hoping this would be much longer but real life intervened. I hope you enjoy this anyway, [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyWillow/profile)[**ClassyWillow**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyWillow/)!
> 
> Thanks to the mod of Pitch Secret Admirers for their patience, and thanks to [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/profile)[**blastellanos**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/) for taking a look at this.
> 
> Title from "Avalanche," by WALK THE MOON.

Ginny’s eighteen when her Mark shades in on the underside of her wrist, over where the pulse throbs in her veins. She’s newly signed by the San Diego Padres and she’d been expecting a baseball, maybe, or even the Padres’ logo. Ginny’s always considered herself married to the game; she assumed the Mark would just further confirm that belief.

Dad hadn’t believed in that Mark mumbo jumbo—him and Mom had had a pretty happy marriage without being each other’s soulmates, after all—and being Unmarked hadn’t changed anything about her parents’ relationship. They’d been very happy together, at least most of the time. Some cosmic ink on the wrist—or the lack thereof—changed nothing.

But Ginny’s Mark comes in a few days after she signs the dotted line with the Padres and it’s not at all what she’d expected. It’s a catcher’s mask, like the kind Mike Lawson—her favorite childhood player and future teammate—wears.

Ginny frowns and wonders what it all means.

“Could be that Lawson’s your soulmate,” her mom teases her with a laugh in her voice.

“Or one of any of the other seven hundred catchers in pro ball,” Ginny mutters darkly.

Ginny’s read all about Soulmates in books and online. She’s joined a few dating sites on the web: UniFate and SoulMarked, and the usual suspects like Tinder and eHarmony. Her favorite soap opera is Marked and Matched. As a little girl, Ginny liked to dream that one day she’d meet her Soulmate and have her happily ever after.

You don’t always meet your Soulmate right away. Sometimes it takes months, years to finally find them. Sometimes you don’t meet them until the day you’re fated to die and you’re only able to spend a handful of minutes together. Other times you meet them seconds after you’re Marked. Then there are the lucky few who meet their Soulmates before their Marks even come in.

Most Marked choose to marry right away. Ginny hopes her Soulmate takes their time getting to her because she’s got things she wants to do.

After the Mark comes in, Ginny just tugs the sleeve of her undershirt down over her wrist, grabs her glove and ball, and rides her bike down to the nearest baseball diamond to refine her pitches.

***

Ginny’s twenty-two when she gets her first real taste of Major League Baseball.

That year, the Padres extend Ginny an invitation to spring training. She has to explain to her mom that she’s just a _non-roster invitee_ , that this doesn’t mean she’s got a spot on the team just yet. Ginny’ll start the season with the San Antonio Missions—her team for the last season and a half—or they’ll send her to the El Paso Chihuahuas, but she probably won’t open the year in San Diego.

It’s easier to think that, anyway. This way she won’t feel too let down if they send her to Triple-A or Double-A.

When Ginny gets to camp, the coaches tell her she’ll get to work with the _big league_ catchers. Not Mike Lawson, because there are a lot of pitchers ahead of her who need a veteran handling them, but still. Ginny’s a hairsbreadth away from her childhood idol.

Ginny watches Lawson with one of the other pitchers, a tall, skinny kid with long blond hair that brushes his shoulders. Lawson rolls a baseball between his fingers without dropping it, when the Mark on her arm starts to itch. She scratches idly, traces the movement of Lawson’s fingers on the pristine white baseball, and frowns.

Ginny glances down at the Mark and the slightly reddened skin surrounding it.

Lawson can’t be her Soulmate. That’d be too damn easy.

She glances back at him and the Mark on her arm practically starts vibrating.

If Lawson truly _is_ her Soulmate, her mom is never gonna let her live it down.

Ginny’s about to walk over and say something to him when a hand closes on her shoulder and she looks over.

The other catcher nods at her and pulls his hand away. “You wanna show me what you got?” he asks, his voice thick with a lilting accent.

Ginny nods back at him. “I’m Ginny,” she says, offering her hand to him.

Maybe _this_ guy’s her Soulmate. Maybe the Mark just got confused–can Marks get confused?—or something, form being around so many catchers. A lot of them are wearing or holding onto the mask that’s inked onto her arm.

“Rafael,” he says, smiling at her. “But you can call me Raffy. I heard a lot about you, Ginny.”

Ginny gently squeezes his hand but the Mark doesn’t tingle or itch or sting. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

She flicks her eyes back over to where Lawson’s working with the beanpole pitcher, their heads bowed as Lawson imparts some kernels of veteran wisdom to him.

Ginny turns back to Raffy and nods, following him to the bullpens. Away from Lawson and the other pitcher.

The Mark grows cold on her arm.

***

Ginny’s twenty-three when she finally comes face-to-face—and skin-to-skin—with Lawson. Their introduction is hasty and awkward, bordering on workplace harassment, when Lawson pats her on the ass as she goes to leave. The Mark immediately starts burning on her arm and Ginny lets out a startled cry, pulling her arm back abruptly.

Lawson frowns. “Didn’t hit you _that_ hard,” he grumbles, putting his hands up and backing away from her.

“No, it’s not that. It’s…” Ginny rolls up the sleeve of her jacket and holds up her arm. The skin around her Mark is swollen and deep red.

“Wait. Lemme see that.” Lawson encircles her wrist with his fingers and lifts her arm so he can inspect the Mark.

When he pokes at it with his finger, Ginny hisses and jerks away from him. She slaps him on the arm and tugs the sleeve of her jacket back down.

“It’s sore,” she mutters, scowling at him.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Lawson shows her his wrist. “So’s mine.”

Lawson’s Mark is the silhouette of a pitcher—with long curly hair pulled into a ponytail.

Ginny exhales. “Shit.”

“I’ve had this thing since I was thirteen,” he grumbles, dropping his arm. “No clue what it meant or who it could be. Turns out it’s you.”

“Turns out it’s me,” Ginny echoes.

Lawson tilts his head at her and crosses his arms over his chest. “So, what now?”

“Has this ever happened before? Teammates being Soulbonded?” she asks.

Lawson shrugs. “Not on any team I’ve ever been on, but I’ve heard about it happening. Mostly with pitchers and catchers. Sometimes shortstops and second basemen. Trammell and Whitaker were Soulbonded. Pudge and Nolan Ryan. Clayton Kershaw and A.J. Ellis. Jeter and A-Rod.”

“Jeter and A-Rod? They weren’t even on the same team until—”

“Why d’you think A-Rod got himself traded to New York?” Lawson gives Ginny a pointed look. 

Ginny rubs at her arm through the nylon material of her jacket. “What do we do now?” she asks.

Lawson slips his arm around her shoulders. “We get to know each other.” He squeezes on her. “We don’t have to jump into anything, you know. Hell, half the Bonded couples I know about don’t even stay together.”

“What do you mean? How?” Ginny asks, as the two of them head toward the Padres’ dugout.

“Sometimes one of them meets someone else first … And they think their Soulmate isn’t actually out there, that the big guy in the sky made a mistake and they don’t wanna wait forever,” he says, sounding distant, trapped in the past.

Ginny realizes immediately that he’s talking about himself.

“You met someone else,” Ginny concludes.

“I did,” he admits. “It’s over now. Has been for a while. But I’m just sayin’… Sometimes stuff happens. There’s no expiration date on this. We can take our time.”

“Okay,” Ginny says. She reaches up and closes her hand around Lawson’s, tugging his arm around her shoulders. “No rush. No pressure.”

“Exactly.”

***

When Ginny blows out a ligament in her elbow, she ends up needing season-ending elbow surgery. The recovery process is going to be lengthy and she’ll be out of commission until at least the middle of spring training. Ginny’s going to have to play a lot of catch up that winter.

It’s so fucking unfair.

She’s laid up at the hospital, loopy on pain killers, when the door to her hospital room opens and a giant bouquet of flowers walks itself into her room.

“Hey, rookie.” Lawson sets the flowers on the nightstand next to her bed and gingerly sits himself in a padded armchair by her bedside.

“What happened to you? You look like shit,” Ginny says, taking in Lawson’s sagging shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes, and the faint sheen of sweat dotting his forehead and upper lip.

Lawson gently rests his arm over his knee, wincing as he does so. “Sympathy pains,” he grunts, rubbing at his elbow.

“Oh, Christ. Really?” Ginny glances at her right elbow, trussed up in a hinged elbow brace and resting on a mound of soft pillows.

“Yep. Didn’t teach us about this shit in grade school,” Lawson says.

“Maybe you can cop some meds off my nurse,” Ginny teases. “Eleanor’s nice. She might feel bad for you.”

 “I’ll be okay,” he says, waving her off.

 Ginny picks up the remote with her good hand and turns on MLB Network. They’re showing a slow-motion replay of her injury.

Her palms go sweaty and a cloying sickness starts rising in her throat, but she makes herself watch the whole thing.

A fluke injury, the team doctors and trainers said. At least she didn’t need Tommy John. That would’ve taken her out of commission until the season after next.

 _You were lucky_ , her mom had told her over the phone.

Ginny sighs and scratches around the compression sleeve on her injured elbow. Doesn’t feel so lucky right now.

“Need me to get you anything?” Lawson asks her, leaning in close and planting a kiss on her temple.

Ginny closes her eyes and turns her head, resting her cheek against his chest. “No,” she mumbles, reaching up and squeezing his arm. “This’s fine.”

Ginny’s lulled to sleep by the gentle beat of Lawson’s heart under her cheek.

 


End file.
